


i should’ve been home yesterday

by anoddconstellationofthoughts



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: (one there's one), Canon Compliant, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Past Torture, ROADDD TRIPPPP, Self-Harm, Song fic, Suicidal Thoughts, angsty fluff, because fuck infinity war, brief non-graphic descriptions of:, except there’s no infinity war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts/pseuds/anoddconstellationofthoughts
Summary: The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he doesn't like breaking promises. This could be because he's fiercely loyal and hates disappointing anyone, especially his family and close friends, or it could be because he promised his mother and sisters he would come back for them when his stunt in the army was up. And then he broke that promise when he fell off the train. He broke a lot of promises when he fell off that train.But, whatever. Take your pick.in which there’s a road trip, some pining, some angst, and, hopefully, some fluff.who doesn’t love a lil uncertainty?





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: stucky is driving cross-country back from something to home and “take me home, country roads” comes on and person a either realizes that their home is right beside them or falls a little more in love with person b as they sing together
> 
> i took a couple liberties but whatever it’s fiiiiine  
> enjoy your ~~angst~~ fluff!!

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he doesn't like breaking promises. Even if they're ones he regrets or doesn't want to keep, he’ll avoid outright breaking them until it’s unavoidable or too late. This could be because he's fiercely loyal and hates disappointing anyone, especially his family and close friends, or it could be because he promised his mother and sisters he would come back for them when his stunt in the army was up. And then he broke that promise when he fell off the train. He broke a lot of promises when he fell off that train.

But, whatever. Take your pick.

Since he escaped Hydra and had his programming removed (he still doesn't know how to properly thank Shuri for that, no matter how hard he tries), Bucky has tried to stop making promises he can't keep, just so he can say he didn’t really break them. Instead of promising Steve he’s fine and going to get better, he says he’ll do his best. Instead of promising to go to Tony’s dinner parties or group activities, he says he’d see if he can make it, and let them know of he can. Instead of promising to spar with Nat or go to target practice with Clint, he says he‘ll try to attend. And, a lot of the time, he does feel better, he does go to those dinners, he does get the shit kicked out of him by Nat, and he does beat Clint at target practice (but with a gun, not a bow and arrow, because he’s not fucking Legolas—no one is that pretty).

But, then again, sometimes, he doesn’t.

So, in general, 21st Century Bucky Barnes doesn’t make promises. He does, however, keep the ones he’s already made.

For example: in 1932, when he was 15, Bucky Barnes realized that he loved Steve Rogers, and not in the way boys were supposed to love each other. He loved Steve Rogers the way his mother loved his father, or rather, they way she had loved him before he had left. But Bucky still loved Steve, even though he knew that he could never tell anyone about it. Sarah Rogers and Winnifred Barnes knew, of course, in the way that mothers always do, but Steve did not, and Bucky promised himself that he would never have to. Bucky promised himself that as long as there was breath in Steve’s lungs and a fight in his heart, Bucky Barnes would be there for him, to protect him and care for him until the end of the line. And protecting him means Steve can never know. So Steve, sweet, caring, fiery, kickass Steve, doesn’t know.

But, right now, as the two of them are hurtling over a highway somewhere in Montana in an SUV they appropriated from one of Tony’s garages, Bucky is regretting that promise. He is regretting the fuck out of that promise because Steve is smiling, relaxed, and singing along to whatever song is on the radio like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Bucky wants to kiss him.

_Almost heaven, West Virginia_

_Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River_

_Life is old there, older than the trees_

_Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze_

Steve’s voice isn’t half bad, if maybe a little flat, but he more than makes up for that with the enthusiasm and almost tangible joy and sunshine he’s projecting in a 40 mile radius around him. He’d been worn down and depressed the last few months since they’d moved back to the US, so when he’d requested a vacation, Bucky had leapt at the opportunity. They drove from state to state, sometimes staying in one place for a while before moving on, other times passing through a couple states in a day.

They’re heading to Glacier National Park now (“Imagine the mountains, Buck! Big, green, _gorgeous_ mountains, and some of them have mirror lakes, and the wildlife is incredible. This is gonna be amazing”), and Steve is out of his mind with excitement. Most of these national parks hadn’t existed when they were younger, and Steve wants to visit every single one. Bucky only wishes they had been given the chance to do it sooner.

_Country roads, take me home_

_To the place I belong_

_West Virginia, mountain mama_

_Take me home, country roads_

The scenery and outside grows more and more beautiful with every mile, trees clustering together on the edge of the road, green plains stretching around them, and the tops of mountains cresting in the distance. The sun is beginning to set in the distance, turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and pink, bits of purple eating away at the edges and trying to force its way in. But Bucky, oh, Bucky can only watch the man beside him as Steve sings and smiles and drives them to the park.

 _God, who gave him the right to be so beautiful?_ Bucky swallows. _Enjoy the view, Barnes, but don’t say anything, and do_ not _do anything, okay, do not—_

Bucky finds himself humming along. Steve glances at him out of the corner of his eye and smiles impossibly brighter.

 _You. Are. Fucked,_ the voice in his head sings. _Sorry, but it’s the truth._

Bucky hates to admit it, but the asshole inside his brain is right: Bucky is, and has been, fucked since the day he saw Steve Rogers on the playground in second grade back in 1925. This roadtrip certainly wasn’t helping his chances of survival in any way—if Bucky has to lay in another hotel room one bed away from an absurdly shirtless Steve Rogers, he is going cry. Loudly and pathetically. In front of anyone who makes the mistake of being present.

_All my memories gather round her_

_Miner's lady, stranger to blue water_

_Dark and dusty, painted on the sky_

_Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye_

In a way, the song is kind of about Steve, Bucky thinks, or at least that one line. Almost all of his memories before Hydra center on Steve, save for the few glimpses he has of his mom and sisters, plus a couple of various dates and odd bits that he can only barely piece together. He really wishes he didn’t remember the dates though, wishes he couldn’t remember distinctly hoping that when he opened his eyes it would be Steve writhing beneath him, not some dame who’s already head over heels and undoubtedly going to make this much more difficult than it needs to be. Bucky still feels guilty for that thought. He doesn’t even remember her name.

Bucky sings along to the chorus now; hearing it once was enough to pick it up, plus the tune sounds familiar, so they must have heard it earlier in the trip. He’s always been the musical one of the two of them, though he’d never admit it. When he was 17, the only thing he wanted in the world was to buy a guitar so he could learn a song or two for Stevie, but they never had enough money, so he never did. Sometimes he wonders what might have happened if he had, though.

_Country roads, take me home_

_To the place I belong_

_West Virginia, mountain mama_

_Take me home, country roads_

Home. Where is home, for Bucky? These last few weeks with Steve have made him feel more at home than anything else in the past 70 some-odd years. The nightmares have been present, but not dominating or constantly looming over Bucky’s shoulder, and he wonders how much that has to do with that fact that the farthest away Steve ever is is when he goes to the bathroom and leaves Bucky behind. Even then, that’s almost nothing compared to how far away they have been in the past. Mentally, this is the closest they've ever been, except for maybe in Brooklyn before the war.

Bucky wasn't the same person then as he is now, though, so that doesn’t quite count.

He still doesn’t know where that leaves him. He loves their apartment in Brooklyn. It’s quiet and rustic in a way that leaves Bucky oddly calm; he’s found himself at ease there more often than he ever thought he would. Although, Steve is always there when he needs him, and vice versa, so maybe that plays a bigger role than Bucky thinks. Or maybe not. He’ll find out soon enough, he guesses.

_I hear her voice, in the morning hour she calls me_

_The radio reminds me of my home far away_

_And driving down the road I get a feeling_

_That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday_

The happiness in Steve’s voice seems to tone down a bit at this verse, and Bucky watches him intently, not really aware he’s doing it. Steve has kept the beard, a fact that Bucky is very happy about, not that he’s said much about it besides that it looks good on Steve.

He’d said it in the warm, quiet way a guy says something complementary to another guy; like he means it, but not like _that_. God, he wishes he could have told Steve like _that_ , told him how he wants to run his hands through Steve's hair, and what Steve’s voice does to him when he lowers it to a soft rumble, and how much he simultaneously hates and loves the fact that even though Steve’s been out of the ice for nearly seven years he still doesn’t know how to buy a shirt that isn’t about to rip if he flexes the wrong way. He wants to tell Steve all the things he dreams of them doing together, all of the ways he wants to be able to make Steve proud, all of the little things he thinks of on a daily basis that could make Steve’s shitty day just a little bit better.

Bucky wants more. He wants so, so much more, but he can’t have it. He just has to get used to that. It’s better this way.

_Remember the promise._

Bucky can never do any of that. He can never tell Steve anything. He can never touch Steve for longer than necessary, in any way but platonic, he can never entertain the idea of he and Steve being _something else,_  he can never do anything that can be interpreted in any way but friendly.

He can never he can never he can never—

Steve’s voice goes back to normal.

_Country roads, take me home_

_To the place I belong_

_West Virginia, mountain mama_

_Take me home, country roads_

Bucky joins him again, going through the final chorus twice before the music fades out and they’re left with silence and a commercial break. Somewhere outside of himself, Bucky’s aware he’s still staring at Steve. Steve glances at him, concerned.

“Hey, you alright, Buck?” he asks.

“Mm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Bucky smiles, turning his eyes back to the road ahead, but it must not be convincing enough because Steve frowns.

“You sure? Your face is doing the thing.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, determined to stop his face from “doing the thing” even though he’s not quite sure what “the thing” is. “Oh?”

Steve is undeterred. “Yeah. Like your eyes get all distant, and you furrow your eyebrow, and sometimes you bite your lip…” He trails off, seeming to realize that maybe he shouldn’t know all of those things.

Bucky tries not to think of how Steve could have noticed those things unless he watches Bucky just as intently as Bucky watches him. Slip ups like these happen often, but Bucky ignores them every time. There’s no use in looking for something that isn’t there.

No use in looking for something that isn’t there.

“Sorry,” Bucky tries to smile again, “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

 _About how I’m so desperately in love with you but I can’t do anything about it._ “Oh, you know, stuff.”

Steve clearly doesn't buy it, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he nods and changes the subject.

“So, whaddya wanna do when we get to the park?”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “I gotta shower. Sorry man, but I’m just… so gross right now.” Steve laughs and Bucky huffs indignantly, glad for the distraction. “You think I’m joking? Come on, tell me you can’t smell me from over there, Mr. Enhanced Senses. I know _I_ can smell _you._ ”

Steve shakes his head, eyes not leaving the road. “Of course I can smell you, Buck, but you don't smell gross. You just smell like you.”

This comment takes a little bit more to ignore, but Bucky does it anyway. They watch the sunset in front of them in silence, each pretending not to think about the others words too much, for fear of slipping up and losing their cover completely.


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nightmares, confessions, and a final promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new taggies!!  
> just check those for possible tw's okie gracias ilysm  
> i finally did the fluffs! i think. i hope.

They arrive at Glacier National Park just after dark. 

Steve, ever the prepared one, had booked them a room (two beds, one bath–Bucky tried not to be upset that the cliché didn't pull through), so he pops in to the front desk and checked in while Bucky finishes preparing their stuff. 

Once in the room, which is smaller but somehow nicer than expected, Bucky sits on his bed and stares out the window, deciding the bed is more comfortable than the balcony chairs. The outer wall is almost completely windows, facing the mountains covered in a deep green, perfectly mirrored by the lake below. The Milky Way shines in the dark sky and in the water, and Bucky wants to reach out and take a handful of stars, bright, sparkling bits of light to hold and to keep. 

But then again, the light he sees may be the fading memory of a star who died long ago. He's not quite sure how to feel about that. 

Bucky feels Steve's presence move up next to him and doesn't react when the taller man sits and the mattress sinks down beside him. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

Bucky nodded. “Just tired.”

He sees Steve bite his lip from the corner of his eye. “You sure?”

“I– no. No. I don’t know.” He keeps his eyes on the stars, and for a brief moment wonders what would happen if one came down and hit the mountains and the lake in front of him, maybe giving him an out, an opportunity to escape this life and enter another. 

He quickly dismisses the thought. He'll bring it up with his therapist later.

Steve's watching his hands. “Wanna talk about it?”

_ This is supposed to be Steve's trip. He's supposed to be the one healing. Stop being selfish. _ He smiles, warmly, but tiredly. “No.”

The blond gives him a half smile in return. “Okay. Want first shower?”

Bucky forces himself to chuckle and face Steve. “Nah, you take it.” He gives him an appraising once-over. “You need it.” 

A surprised laugh bursts out of Steve. “Wow, okay, thanks, Buck. You're so kind.”

“Anytime, Doll,” Bucky winks. He ignores the way the other man’s eyes glaze over at that. 

Steve shoves his shoulder half-heartedly and leaves to take his shower. 

No use looking for what isn't there.

 

Bucky has his first real nightmare in weeks that night.

He's back in The Chair again, except then he's not: he's looking down at Steve in The Chair instead. As the Hydra technicians strap Steve in Bucky can feel the cold metal against his face. One man shouts something in Swiss (“ _Begin memory wipe_ -” _Zola_ , he realizes with a start) and then the sharp, burning electric volts pulse beneath his skin, ripping him apart, but it's so, so much worse because _Steve_ _feels it too_. He's screaming and struggling and Bucky tries to help him to get him out of The Chair but he can't move and he realizes that it's because he's in his own chair, and suddenly he's crying Steve's name and pulling at his own restraints, desperately, desperately trying to reach him before it's too late. 

Steve's screaming his name, too, but it’s different. Like he's choked up and desperate and unsure if himself, and Bucky can't stand it. He launches himself in the direction of Steve's voice only to be met with a solid wall of warm muscle that latches onto him like he's a piece of driftwood afloat in a sea of endless tears that are threatening to fill his lungs and drown him out and Bucky can’t breathe–

But then he can.

And he's awake.

“Bucky? Oh, thank God, Buck–”

Bucky is abruptly very aware that he's pressed to Steve's absurdly large (and naked) chest. There are tears on his face and on Steve’s chest, and Bucky pulls back guiltily. He runs a hand through his hair and wraps his arms around himself.

“Sorry for waking you up,” he whispers, voice cracking. 

Steve sits there, looking lost and insecure without Bucky in his arms. The stars are almost insultingly bright outside, as neither of them had bothered to close the curtains, and Bucky's tears glisten on Steve annoyingly muscular chest. He forces himself to turn and look at the wall instead. 

“Don't apologize,” Steve finally answers. “You can't help it.” 

Bucky clenches the metal hand around the flesh one, self-loathing and anger bubbling up in the back of his throat. “No, I can’t, but I should be able to. I went two weeks without a nightmare, without waking you up like this, and then I had to go fuck it up because even though my programming is gone, I still fucking belong to them. This trip was supposed to be for  _ you _ , but I can't breathe on my own, Steve, without them being there, I can't close my eyes without seeing them, I lose my shit at the sight of anything that reminds me of them, because I might be free of their arm and their programming but I'll never truly be free, I’ll always belong to them and their  _ stupid, fucking chair _ –” he hiccups, tears running freely again, doing nothing to make the memory of his nightmare wash away. The metal thumb presses into his palm until the pain brings him back to the hotel bed in Montana, with the stars and the green mountains and the lake and Steve behind him, wait, when did Steve get behind him–

“Deep breaths, Buck.” His voice is low and still a little wobbly, but warm, even with heartbreak staining the edges. He gently pries Bucky's hands apart, rubbing the blooming bruise that they both know will fade before the sun comes up. His thighs are bracketing Bucky's own, and his chest is pressed up against Bucky's back, the thin t-shirt doing little to keep Steve's warmth from bleeding through. He slides his fingers between Bucky's own, making sure their arms are touching from shoulder to fingertip and hooks his chin over the brunet's shoulder–the one connected to the metal arm. Once his cheek is touching Bucky's stubble and sweat covered one, he hums, and murmurs, “This okay?”

Somewhere, through the thick fog of Bucky's shock, he hears a voice in his head whisper,  _ he's trying to touch you where the chair touched you. He's trying to undo its pain.  _

A deeper, more animalistic voice whispers,  _ he's claiming you as his own. Not theirs. _

_ His own.  _

Bucky shivers, unable to stop himself from leaning back into Steve. He pulls their arms closer around him, and nods slightly, not trusting himself to speak quite yet. Steve only tightens his grip on him, as if he's worried that Bucky will turn to dust and slip through his fingers. Something warm and fluttery wakes up in the depths of his stomach. 

They sit like that for a while, Steve's heat soaking into Bucky and pushing out the last remnants of the dream. The soft duet of their heartbeats takes the place of whatever conversation they might have had, and Bucky starts to relax. 

And then feel reckless. 

He remembers every look Steve has ever given him, every lip bite, every hug, touch, glace that lasted longer than it should have. He remembers all the words left unsaid, all the unspoken  _ I love you _ ’s, all the tears and bruises and sleepless nights apart. He remembers Steve, sweet, caring, fiery, kickass Steve, and he remembers a promise made long, long ago. 

_ No use in looking for what isn't there. _

Well, maybe it is there. Maybe he was just too scared and selfish to see it. And with Steve's warmth and heartbeat behind him, rallying him and cheering him on, Bucky thinks he might do something. Something stupid, and brave, and so utterly reckless that it might ruin him. It might ruin Steve. 

Then Steve moves his head to press his lips into the fabric above the scar tissue on Bucky’s shoulder, not kissing, just resting there, and even though he can't really feel them, he knows they're soft and grounding and real, and as the blond breathes him in, Bucky makes the jump. 

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve hums, the vibrations echoing through his shoulder. Bucky shivers again. 

_ Baby steps _ , a voice reminds him. He swallows. 

“I… like guys. The same way I like girls.” He squeezes his eyes shut, but Steve only shifts to hug him tighter and slide his lips up to Bucky’s neck. 

“I know.” 

Bucky's breath hitches at the sudden intimacy of Steve's touch, but he barrels on, hardly acknowledging his response. 

Eyes still closed, Bucky takes a deep breath. “And I know because…” he swallows, “I’m in love with you.”

Steve's lips move up to Bucky's jaw. “I know.” 

Bucky's eyes fly open and he wrenches himself from Steve's hold so he can face him. “You  _ what _ ?” 

Steve chuckles and pulls the other man all the way around so that his legs can wrap around Steve's waist. “The night before you shipped out, you left me at the fair, because I was so dead set on enlisting, and you had a date. When you came back to the apartment, blackout drunk and barely able to stand on your feet, you announced that you were in love with me, but that I couldn't tell anyone because you had made a promise never to tell me. When I told you I loved you back, you broke down sobbing, kissed me, and fell asleep cradling me to your chest.” Steve laughs at Bucky’s shocked expression and brushes a stray hair away from his ear, resting his hand on the side of Bucky's face. He leans into it unconsciously. 

“Then in the morning, you woke up and didn't remember a thing, then gave me a hug, and left.” Steve's smile turns bittersweet. “Once I got you back, both times, I just figured you'd come to me in your own time. You were obviously healing, so I didn’t want to interrupt any of that.”

Bucky gapes. “I– but– what about what you wanted?”

_ Steve knew Steve knew Steve knew Steve knew. _

_ He loves you back he loves you back he loves you back. _

Steve shakes his head and brings the other hand up to Bucky's neck and starts playing with his hair. “That didn't matter. I was dealing with mild heartbreak and a severe case of blue balls; you were recovering from weeks, then decades of torture. You came first.” 

Bucky put his hands on Steve's waist, feeling the need to ground himself on something. “You should've said something.” 

“Yeah, and have you say what?” Steve's voice betrays a sliver of anger, but he immediately shrinks back in regret, dropping his hands and his gaze to his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn't want you to push me away. I didn't want to risk losing you again.”

Bucky smiles weakly, emotions still warring in his head. “You can't lose me, Stevie. To the end of the line, remember?” 

“Yeah. To the end of the line.” The blond huffed a laugh. He took Bucky's metal hand and started playing with it. “To the end of the line.”

They stay silent for a moment, Bucky's heart racing as he realizes how close they still are: legs are around Steve's waist, and they're holding hands. He could just lean in and–

“So, you're in love with me, huh?”

Bucky's heart stops. It's been a while since he's been this embarrassed. “Yeah?”

“And I’m in love with you.” Steve's blush is traveling down his neck. Bucky wants to kiss it.

“Yeah.”

“So where does that leave us?”

_ He's giving you the perfect opening, moron, take it take it take it– _

Bucky took a deep breath and leaned in, a hand coming up to hold Steve's neck. “Here.” 

He leans in to kiss him. And Steve kisses back. And it's warm and soft and perfect and Bucky doesn't know if he's ever felt more at home than here in Steve's arms.

They spend the rest of the night making up for lost time, and Bucky finally promises Steve his heart. Steve promises his back. 

And it's a promise they're both going to keep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos always know how to make a gal feel special  
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://anoddconstellationofthoughts.tumblr.com/) xx


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